Polly
by a-rock-n-roll-suicide
Summary: "Polly wants a cracker, maybe she would like some food. She asked me to untie her. A chase would be nice for a few." In 1968, fourteen-year-old Polly Winston went with some friends to a rock concert. She never came back. 15-year-old Alex DeLarge has taken a liking to her. Warning: rape and violence
1. Chapter 1

**This story is based off of the Nirvana song, "Polly,"released in 1991 on their _Nevermind_ album. It is about a girl who was kidnapped and raped but got away by pretending she liked what he was doing. It's based off a real incident in June 1987. Gerald Friend abducted a 14-year-old girl from a rock concert which she was seeing. He raped and tortured her and tied her to a pulley suspended from the ceiling of his home. She managed to escape at a gas station. Needless to say, he was caught a day later. And needless to say, this story will be just as disturbing as the real incident. I own nothing. Lyrics are at the bottom. I don't own them, either.**

* * *

**I wish I could say**

This story is a happy one

And I wish I could say

My teenage years were just full of normal

Teen stuff

Like boys and friend drama

And parents who don't understand me

Well, my parents don't understand

But not because I'm trying to rebel

Not because I want some stupid shitty CD

By some stupid, shitty popular new artist

Or ridiculously pricey jeans

They're so adamant I don't need

No, I wish that's why they don't understand

Because at least then I can say

I survived my teen years

With nothing more than bad memories of

Horrid peer pressure

Relentless teasing

Crazy wild hormones

Stupid fights with the 'rents

Rather than

PTSD that I'll

Never be fully rid of

Dreadful nightmares that leave me

Afraid to go back to sleep

Waking up in the middle of the night, sobbing

Why couldn't I have had frivolous teen memories?

Ones where I end up looking back and realising

How none of it mattered?

I want to trust people again

But the last time I trusted a stranger

He forced me through a month of hell

And even after he was gone

The memories, they lingered on

I can sometimes still hear his voice

Mocking me, taunting me

As he raped me

As he beat me

As he made me long for death

Fuck

My days aren't always miserable

Sometimes my dreams are pleasant

Sometimes I have no dreams at all

Well, none I can recall

There are times I'm genuinely happy

No flashbacks, no reminder

Of those hellish thirty days

I've had therapy since then

Baby steps, the therapist said the first day

I saw her

Baby steps

I was going to have good days and bad days

That's what she told me

And guess what?

She was right

Some days were awesome

Some were just good

Some okay

Some meh

Some bad

And then there are the days where I felt

Like shit

On rare occasions

I want to kill myself

But those are rare

* * *

_Polly wants a cracker_

_I think I should get off her first_

_I think she wants some water_

_To put out the blow torch_

_It isn't me_

_We have some seed_

_Let me clip_

_Your dirty wings_

_Let me take a ride_

_Don't cut yourself_

_I want some help_

_To help myself_

_I've got some rope_

_You have been told_

_I promise you_

_I have been true_

_Let me take a ride_

_Don't cut yourself_

_I want some help_

_To help myself_

_Polly wants a cracker_

_Maybe she would like more food_

_She asked me to untie her_

_A chase would be nice for a few_

_[CHORUS]_

_Polly said..._

_Polly said her back hurts_

_She's just as bored as me_

_She caught me off my guard_

_It amazes me, the will of instinct_

**_~Polly by Nirvana_**

**Enjoy**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry I haven't updated this in three months. Writer's block, you know. What can you do? But I have the next two chapters completed and they will be up soon. And I don't know when I'll update First Impressions.**

* * *

**It was 1968**

I was fourteen years old,

So young, so innocent, so naive.

But then,

We all were in the sixties, weren't we?

You think we talked about this stuff back then?

It's not as if this depravity happens more these days than

Back in the "good ol' days, before video games and violent movies."

No, it happened as much as ever.

We just didn't discuss it.

I was at a rock concert with some buddies.

We were having a fun time,

Talking, listening to music, partying.

I admit my attire was not what you would call "modest."

I was what some judgemental cunts would call a "slut."

Maybe I was, but did I deserve what happened to me?

I don't think so.

After the concert was done, we headed for a ride around the city.

I was in charge of liquor.

"Oi, Polly, pass that fuckin' liquor!"

Not even an hour after the concert were my friends drunk.

I wasn't. It takes a lot to get me drunk.

And I hated the taste of that beer.

So I suggested we go to the Korova.

I'd heard that the milk got you stoned off your ass.

I needed to relax.

Alcohol was not my thing.

Marijuana was ineffective and I was afraid to try harder shit,

Like cocaine or LSD.

My home life was stressful.

My parents were emotionally abusive

And liked to apply pressure on me concerning my grades.

"You'd better not fail, Polly.

You'll be whipped so hard you'll never get anything lower than an A again."

So of course, I needed to get away.

My buddies agreed easily, having been curious for this Milkbar.

I took the responsibility of driving, since everyone else was piss drunk.

And we got there soon enough.

I had no idea what to expect.

I'd heard rumours about the place,

That random Russian words decorated pitch black walls

And that they used stark naked woman statues with coloured pubic hair

As tables and milk dispensers.

Were they correct, these rumours?

I was dying to find out.

We entered, and yes, every rumour was confirmed.

And yes, I did get some spiked milk, which clouded my mind.

Which was why I decided to trust the wolf leering at me in the back.

I suppose he'd be as handsome to me if I were sober as he was to me as I was,

High as a kite, my guard let down, my mind opened.

He had the most piercing blue eyes,

The most bluest eyes.

Eyes to rival Paul Newman's.

His smirk was evil, smug, wolfish,

But I mistook evil for mischief.

His eyes contained dark secrets.

Again I mistook that for fun playfulness.

He beckoned me over.

My friends giggled and told me to go sit with the cute boy.

He was in his all-white outfit and his bowler hat and black boots.

I sat next to him.

Well, on the small space next to him.

His friends occupied the couch along with him.

His solution was to pull me into his lap.

"Hi hi hi, my little sister," he said to me.

I felt shy around him.

I was pretty...promiscuous, but still I remained a virgin.

I had been fingered by boys, had given head,

Snogged a lot of them.

But I never fucked any of them.

He put his arm around me.

I said hello.

"And what might you be doing out this late, at this time of nochy?" he asked.

"It's much too late for a pretty young devotchka such as yourself to be here."

I blushed at this.

"You could be hurt, forcefully given the old in-out in-out by some rogues of the night.

This place is no place for a young girl."

I told him I was with my friends, having fun. I told him my name.

He told me his, Alex DeLarge.

Alex was with his "droogs," hanging out, drinking "moloko plus."

We chatted and he told me what a pretty devotchka I was, and how come I hadn't

A boyfriend.

I told him I didn't know.

He kissed my cheek, and yes, we did snog a bit.

After a while, he told my friends, who were leaving, to go on home.

He'd take good care of me.

As if.

He also sent his droogs home, forbidding them from use of his car.

He took me in his car and asked me the way, like it mattered.

Home was not where I was going.

He passed my supposed destination, ignoring my protests.

He put a hand on my upper leg and I started getting a little worried.

I asked where the hell he was taking me

The thick fog of milk-induced highness was separating now,

Giving way to fear and terror.

Perhaps Alex wasn't the boy I thought he was?

He merely smirks at me, and this time I am not blind.

He means to do me harm, I knew then.

_Just let me off here, please, Alex,_ I begged him.

_I'm sure I can find my way back._

He only smirked wider.

"No can do, little sister. I need to take you to my place. Walking back alone is dangerous,

Especially for a poor, young, helpless devotchka like yourself."

_But why can't you take me home, Alex?_ _I can repay you later._

_My mum and dad are worried sick for me. I'm sure they'd be much grateful_

_If you'd take me home, safe and sound._

I sounded pathetic, pleading.

I was beyond scared now.

My words only served to amuse him.

"Don't you worry, little sister. Uncle Alex will take good care of you."

But we both knew his words were lies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Flat building=apartment building. They're British, remember.**

* * *

**He took me**

To this flat building.

As soon as he turned off the engine,

He got out and dragged me out as well.

By then I was kicking and screaming,

But he would have none of that.

He took his cane and pulled it apart,

Revealing a very sharp blade,

Which he pressed to my throat.

"Now you slooshy and you better slooshy well, darling.

I'm taking you to my doma. My parents will be asleep,

Having taken their spat pills before.

So they will not hear you creech.

However, other lewdies will hear.

If they wake up, your throat will be slit, and your blood will be spilled.

I will do whatever I want to you. Creech all you want in my room.

It'll be sound-proof. Pony?" he asked sinisterly.

I nodded.

_What is it you want with me?_

But I knew, and he knew I knew. So he didn't answer, simply dragging me

Into the building.

I saw the disgusting, vulgar graffiti littering the wall.

Erect penises, gaping vaginas, coupled with equally vulgar words and phrases

Who would draw and write that? I wondered.

The lift was broken, so he dragged me up the stairs.

It wasn't long before I was in his room, screaming again.

And he took me to his bed, where he tied my hands to the headboard

And spread-eagled my feet

He got scissors and started cutting away at my clothes,

Singing, all the while, a horribly familiar tune.

He was singing _Singin' in the Rain_,

My favourite movie.

I would never be able to hear the song again, or watch the movie.

Damn him.

As soon as I was good and "nagoy," as he would say,

He started stripping off his own clothes.

Admittedly he had a decent enough body,

(More than decent, really)

And if this was consensual,

Considering his size,

This situation might have been really fun

As it were, this would be nothing but a nightmare.

One that would last a month.

He put on Beethoven

(Good thing I never was interested in him)

And then climbed on top of me, smirking.

He kissed me hard, forcefully.

He bit my lip, hard, making me bleed and cry out.

I could feel his erection poking my thigh.

He licked my blood and then pulled away.

He was grinning at me.

He grabbed my breasts and gave them a hard squeeze,

Making me cry out again.

He started teasing my nipples and

To my horror, my body started responding to it.

I could feel wetness between my legs,

And I just _knew _he was fully aware.

How else could you explain the smug grin on his face?

"You naughty soomka, you're wet for Uncle Alex.

Why did you protest so much?

I know you want it.

You're just too shy."

He pushed his "pan-handle" into me,

Satisfied that I was wet enough.

I cried out.

He pounded into me,

Growling filthy vulgar things in my ear.

"You fucking slut.

I know you want it. Look how

Fucking wet you are for me."

As if it were my fault my body

Reacted like it was supposed to.

I didn't know that then, though,

So I believed I secretly wanted him,

And that I was just being a cock-tease.

He didn't speak nadsat slang while he was raping me.

He took his own sweet time hurting me.

I thought he'd only last about ten minutes,

But he managed to last half an hour, at least.

Another thing I figured (and was wrong about)

Was that he would let me go after,

Left to pick up the broken pieces.

No, he left me tied to his bed.

_Well? _I asked in a shaky voice.

_Aren't you going to let me go? You're done with me._

_You got what you wanted._

_I want to go home now._

He smirked at me.

"Does it viddy like I care what you want, ptitsa?

Because I don't. And in no way

Am I done with you.

This is just the beginning."


End file.
